Date Du Jour
by Helkauiel
Summary: If the way to a man's heart is through his stomach, then Ariadne is definitely on the right track. Arthur/Ariadne.


**Title:** Date Du Jour

**Rating: **T for language**  
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**Movie: **Inception**  
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**Summary: **If the way to a man's heart is through his stomach, then Ariadne is definitely on the right track.**  
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**Disclaimer: **Christopher Nolan owns these characters. They just have taken up residence in my mind.

"You're still here?"

Ariadne whirled around in surprise. The sound of a male voice shattered her concentration, her hands frantically clutching for her totem that she had been absently playing with at the design table. Heat rose in her cheeks as she realized the source of her surprise was not in fact some nameless enemy attempting a preemptive strike or Cobb coming in to mildly berate her; it was Arthur, wearing both a bemused expression and an impeccably pressed suit.

"Uh, uh, yeah," she stammered and blushed in embarrassment at being caught off guard. So much for proving she could be professional in her relatively new and peculiar work environment. And so much for witty banter with her attractive co-workers. Hmm. Ariadne frowned at the other man and stated quizzically, "I thought everyone but Cobb and Yusef had gone home."

He arched his eyebrow, "Those two are working late again? That's the third night this week." With a sigh, Arthur shoved his hands in his pockets and Ariadne was struck by the juxtaposition of the childish pose with his amusingly serious demeanor. He added, "I'll be honest, I'm not sure I want to know what those two are up to."

Ariadne did. She knew all too well what Cobb was doing and it made her vaguely ill just to think about it. Keeping the memory of a loved one trapped behind mental prison bars was… Wrong. It wasn't the way to love someone. Not that she was an expert on the subject of love, by any means, as Mal had so unkindly pointed out. But she knew without truly knowing how that if she did ever care that much about a man, that she would never attempt what her boss was trying and failing to do. What Arthur knew on the subject of his friend's tragic past was a mystery to her and she was fairly certain that spilling the beans at this crucial junction in time would do nothing but more damage.

Before her silence could become suspicious, she quickly changed the subject: "I'm positively starved. Have you eaten yet?"

Arthur shook his head, "No. I was thinking about just picking up some take out on the way back." He didn't mention that he wasn't looking forward to another night of ordering food cooked by strangers and eating alone in his small, rented flat. Attempting an extremely masculine façade for the woman he found extremely intriguing meant leaving out details such as that.

"Didn't you and Eames order Chinese last night?"

"No, we ordered Thai. Cobb and I had Chinese the night before."

She shook her head in disbelief, "What, do you have some bizarre aversion to real food? Your sodium levels are going to sneak up and kill you when you're in a dream-state if you're not careful." Her eyes flashed with good-humor and her tone kept the teasing friendly.

His skin rapidly flushed carmine. Now it was his turn to stutter, "Well, I, uh, I-" Knowing that sooner or later she would find out the truth anyway, Arthur braced himself and blurted out, "I confess: I am an abysmal cook. I mean, truly awful. I can't even make toast without burning it to an incendiary mess."

It astounded Ariadne that a man who was so utterly competent at his job and so put together as a person could harbor such a human flaw. And the way he hung his head sheepishly tugged at her heartstrings; who could resist such a sweetly discomfited expression? Only someone with a heart of highly polished marble or steel and that description was one that certainly did not fit herself.

Arthur had quickly become one of her favorite choices of company over the past few weeks because of his extensive vocabulary and sharp sense of humor. It also didn't hurt that he was more than a bit handsome and looked fantastic in dress clothes in addition to being a compassionate and intelligent person. The threat of danger present in the mission was one of the only reasons she could find to continue holding the man at arm's length when she really wanted him to pull her close. That threat was rapidly fading from memory and being replaced with thoughts of reaching up and kissing away Arthur's embarrassment.

Since that would more than likely send him running in the opposite direction, she took a different approach. Without fully understanding where this newly found courage was coming from, she found herself declaring, "Arthur, as your friend, I refuse to allow you to eat anything that is normally delivered in a cardboard box tonight. You're coming over for dinner."

"I couldn't impose. Really, it's not a big deal." Arthur attempted to demur, but he neglected to recognize that when Ariadne made up her mind about something, it really was no longer a question of 'how' so much as 'when'.

"Bullshit." She said simply. "And don't think you're getting off the hook with cooking because you say you're a mess in the kitchen. You're still helping."

He decided to cut his losses and acquiesce, giving in to the inevitable. "Alright, alright. I know when I'm outmatched." He threw up his hands in defeat and Ariadne chuckled with glee.

After hastily tidying up her workstation, the two strolled casually out of the warehouse. They were about halfway down the block when Arthur realized that he had no idea where the team's newest recruit lived. Yes, he knew her address (for obvious security reasons; he was the Point Man after all) but he found himself brimming with curiosity as to what the place Ariadne called home might be like. Casting surreptitious glances at the woman walking beside him, he pictured the books of architecture he was sure she owned scattered and strewn about every available surface with their pages flayed opened to fantastic places far away.

"Does spaghetti work for you? I was planning on making it tonight." Her voice startled him from his musings and he replied quickly,

"Ariadne, let me explain something about myself. I will eat just about anything that is placed in front of me. The only caveat that exists is that I can't prepare what goes in my stomach because it wouldn't stay there long."

She rolled her eyes, "So that's a yes?"

"Yes. Didn't I make that clear?" He winked in acknowledgment of his difficult nature.

"You're lucky I speak fluent sarcasm."

As the pair took a series of twists and turns that Ariadne had no doubt he would remember exactly, they talked about miscellaneous and safe subjects. Neither was aware of the feelings of the other and steering topics of conversation was rather like walking on eggshells; not wanting to shatter this new level of friendship and offered intimacy. Letting someone into your home was a sign of trust, Arthur knew, and he wouldn't dare violate it. Eventually they drew up to a small apartment building and Ariadne merrily traipsed her way up the stairs to the door and ushered him into the hallway. A few flights of stairs later the dreamers found themselves on the threshold of her home.

As she turned the key, she warned, "Don't expect much. And I apologize in advance for the mess."

"You are prematurely forgiven." Arthur grinned when the door swung open to reveal a scene much like the one he had pictured. Her small kitchen table seemed to be fabricated of texts and from what he could see of the living room, all available shelf/coffee table/floor space was dedicated to the meticulous arrangement of books. He had no doubt it was all quite deliberate and if he asked her where a specific novel lay that she would know down to the inch where it should be.

She misinterpreted his grin entirely and rolled her eyes, saying "I did warn you. Maybe you could help me move things around so we have space to actually cook something?"

"We?" Arthur asked, gingerly picking up the books from the table and stacking them in his arms.

"Yes, we. Did you really think I'd forget that I wanted you to help?"  
Flashing her a rakish grin, he hefted his load, "No, but it was worth a shot."

Ariadne laughed, "You're so mature. Put those in the living room next to the armchair would you?"

Obediently Arthur did as he had been bid, putting the texts down with exaggerated care. When he stood up he could see a room just through a small hallway with what looked like a bed in it. His heart leapt into his throat at the thought that her bedroom lay just beyond that wall... But before he could get a good look at it, he felt a wad of cloth hit his back. When he unfurled it he stated flatly, "Please tell me you're kidding."

Her dark eyes danced with mischief, "I'm as serious as the plague, Arthur. No arguments. The kitchen. Now."

Any shred of dignity Arthur may have salvaged after tying the white apron around his neck vanished entirely as the young woman by the stove burst into a childish attack of giggles. "Remind me why I let myself into this situation?" He plaintively inquired of the annoyingly silent ceiling.

"No, no," she choked, "You look great." Reaching into a cabinet that was just slightly too tall for her, she triumphantly pulled out a box of spaghetti noodles and some mysterious jars that he couldn't identify. Tossing them to Arthur, she headed to the fridge to pull out several tomatoes.

He stared blankly and asked, "What do you expect me to do with these?"

Patiently, as though she was explaining the process to a small child, Ariadne said "Get a pot, fill it with water and let it boil. Then stick the noodles in."

"Where do I find a pot in here?" He began opening random cabinets, at an absolute loss as to where he was to find such a device in a maze of kitchen confections.

She rolled her eyes and bent down to a door beside the oven. Arthur swallowed as he was presented with the very pleasant view of Ariadne's backside and only thoughts of wooden chairs and British prime ministers saved him from potential embarrassment in front of his co-worker. "No excuses." She said sternly while shoving the metal into his chest. "Get to work."

He was quite amused at just how authoritative she became in her own territory. That woman had some serious moxie. As Cobb could testify, very few people told Arthur what to do. Fewer than that usually survived the experience. But here he stood in a Parisian flat wearing an apron and dutifully following instructions from a friend whose name was a mythology reference whose significance did not escape him. Maybe she really was the one who could help them find their way through this last maze.

Casually he offered while turning the tap on, "You know, out of all the information Cobb wanted about you, I really wish I had known about your secret culinary inclination." He added belatedly, "And I apologize for the fact that I know a lot of things about you. I understand the inherent creepiness and wouldn't blame you if you smacked me with that dishrag you're holding so menacingly."

"Ha ha ha." She drawled. For a few seconds the only sounds echoing through the room were running water and the rhythmic rocking of a knife on a chopping board. "It's ok, by the way," Ariadne said off-handedly as she slid her chopped tomatoes into another pot already filled with olive oil and spices, "I don't really mind that you're a total creep. It's part of your job. How could I be mad at you for doing what you have to do? You are part of what is going to keep us all from getting killed, right?"

Arthur had to admit that he hadn't thought of it that way before. He typically thought of himself as the team's de facto babysitter in charge of maintaining a respectful watch on Cobbs' mind, containing Yusef and his chemicals and Eames' general douchebaggery and hampering Ariadne's tendency to overwork herself. For someone who had been playing the role of 'the responsible one' since his college years it hadn't been hard to re-assume. He knew he was the shadow of the team and that he lacked the dominating personalities of his friends. Hearing his job put in such a positive light went a long way towards making him feel valued.

Deciding to keep the conversation deliberately light he teased, "Still, it would have been nice to know that you were a closet chef. My cholesterol levels would have thanked you."

Ariadne sent him a scathing look. "And risked all of the sexist and completely ridiculous 'women in the kitchen' jokes that I'm sure Eames knows? No thank you. This will be our little secret, if you don't mind."

He replied simply, "Of course."

She turned, and was startled by the sincerity in his tone and the seriousness in his expression. It was then she realized what a loyal man Arthur was. Dying for his friends was more than just a Romantic ideal; it was a real possibility. Now there was no one she would trust more to watch her back. Offering him a chance to get to know her as a person and not bullet points on a file might have been the smartest decision she had ever made, because she was finding out just as much about the man she had forced completely out of his comfort zone. Seeing him look so delightfully confused made her want to beam like an infatuated college-age school-girl. Which she was. But that wasn't the point.

"Do me a favor? Watch the marinara sauce. I'm going to change." Ariadne flew from the kitchen before he could voice a protest.

Ambling over to the stove, Arthur grabbed the wooden stove sticking out of a drawer and poked it into the slowly bubbling red mess. He thought he smelled garlic and were those little blobs bay leaves? "How hard can this be?" He asked himself, "I'm just watching the sauce. What could happen?" He placed the lid back on the pot and sighed. Spotting plates in the sink, Arthur decided to surprise Ariadne by being extraordinarily helpful and setting the table for her. The dishes he found were dirty and required a quick scrub but were soon gleaming. He put them on the recently cleaned table and rummaged through drawers for silverware. He had just managed to place a decorative candle on the table when suddenly-

"BEEP BEEP BEEP BEEP BEEP" chirped Ariadne's fire alarm in a tone meant to infuriate anyone with any semblance of hearing.

"Oh shit-!" Arthur dashed to the stove and saw smoke billowing from underneath the pot lid. When he pulled it off and saw the blackening amorphous splotch in the bottom of the pot his intense shame cause him to almost forgot about the obnoxious beeping alarm. Hurriedly switching the stove off, he sought the source of the infernal noise and saw it just above the door. He grabbed a chair and frantically tried to silence it but to no avail. For a man who could find out anything about anyone, he was completely a loss when it came to technology, especially technology in real life. Dream tech he could deal with. Not little plastic circles that could quickly give someone a migraine. And now Ariadne would think he was a complete idiot. "Dammit, dammit, dammit!" He swore.

"What the hell happened in here?" Ariadne darted back in the room and was torn between the desire to laugh or beat the shit out of Arthur at what she saw. Laughter won. Jumping up on the chair beside him, she pushed the reset button and the alarm settled into quiet. Arthur looked so crestfallen that she couldn't help herself. She allowed herself to pull him down from the chair and pull him into a comforting hug.

He miserably moaned into her shoulder, "I just wanted to set the table. How was I supposed to know tomatoes were flammable?"

"You did warn me," she reminded him, "I'm just as much to blame for leaving you alone with food and open flames."

"But I nearly set your flat on fire. If you want me gone I understand." From his nook in her shoulder, Arthur could see that she had shed her jacket and scarf and pulled on a simple t-shirt and jeans. She looked unbelievably cute and casual in comparison to his rather stuffy suit. Still, despite everything, something in the back of his mind whispered about how right she felt in his embrace. "I'm sorry." He said humbly as he straightened up but didn't remove his arms from around her waist.

Ariadne knew him well enough to know that Arthur did not apologize to just anyone. Or anyone. Period. That fact warmed her cheeks and made her smile playfully. "No harm done. Well, except to the sauce." He made a face at her; dark eyes alight with something she couldn't name. The only thing she knew for certain was at that moment all she wanted was for this man to stay in her kitchen, her home. Her life. Even if for now it was just a dinner. And without hesitation she added, "Arthur, I want you to stay."

And nothing in the world could have made Arthur budge from her arms.

"So how do you feel about pizza?"


End file.
